Dusting Myself Off

Hi! Remember me? I used to blog here regularly. Well, I think I've fallen off so many horses recently it's got beyond a joke. Last week, I had to take some time out and have a proper think about things. Not small things like laundry or shoes or eyeliner. But big things - what do I want to do when I grow up?

That was not the first time I have asked myself that particular question. I suspect I will ask it again many times before I leave this earth. Again, I found myself coming back to my place of creativity, of writing. I haven't written anything since last summer that hasn't been work related; and my intermittent blogging...well, it became more and more intermittent.

I had put my head down, put all thoughts of writing to one side and went to work. The problem is simply, it's not who I am. I can do it in short bursts. Certainly, I am so blessed that the people I work with are actually prepared to put up with me. I must be the world's biggest pain in the arse for them - wafting in and around. But the fact of the matter is, I am never going to manage being a full time anything. I require flexibility and creativity.

I have come to terms with the fact I am going to die a very poor woman. I console myself with the fact that I will have a lot of fun along the way.

Getting back on the Exercise Horse, has not been so painless (if you can call the process of giving up 2 days work to write, painless). My physical activities in May petered out to the point of disappearing. All of my previous physical niggles started to creep in again. My back, my knee, my shoulders. I got myself moving again.

Let me tell you, the biggest lesson I've learnt in the last 6 weeks is: it is much harder to start up again, than to notch the intensity down.

I am not beating myself up about it; there would be no benefit in doing so. I know why I paused and I've learnt my lesson. I am going to take every step I can, not make that mistake again.

Part of the mistake I made was to 'exercise'. I bailed out of doing the City of Norwich Half Marathon in November because I wasn't at all confident I would be fit or strong enough to run it, without serious risk of injury. It seems I am more motivated to 'train'. I need a reason to exercise beyond the 'it's good for me'. Over the weekend, I signed up to run the Wroxham 5k in the middle of July. This Saturday, I will take part in the Norwich parkrun to set my first bench mark. I know my time will be rubbish. I know it'll be a miracle if I don't kill myself. I will be walking bits of it. It doesn't matter.

If I am to eat regularly, I have to rethink my writing activities. That's what today is all about. I'm getting back on this horse and I'm going to ride this sucker until we both drop dead from exhaustion. 

The difference now is the exercise has taught me self-discipline and to put my motivation in action. Perhaps I am still unable to set clear goals as per NLP structures, but I'm all about the moving in the general direction. 

I really do hope I'm moving in the general direction of Financial Sustainability...

Walk on the Wilde Side

Now, I'm not one for competitions. Firstly, I'm not terribly competitive. If you want to dash across that field, go ahead by all means. No, I don't care how far you can throw that stick. Excuse me? You want me to run? Secondly, I'm not much of a gambler. I did do the Trinidad National Lottery when there was an oportunity to win $13 million TT, and spent a pleasant afternoon spending the imaginary money, but wasn't terribly suprised when I didn't win. I don't even bother to do the Lottery in the UK. Quite frankly, I have more chance that Robert Downey Jr will walk into my local cafe, catch sight of me and fall madly in love. And let's be honest, that ain't never gonna happen. Blog competitions, I tend to pass on. Mostly because MJ is really scary when she wants to win something and I'm really not woman enough to take her on.

However, on the 22nd of July. XL changed my mind. He was offering an Oscar Wilde action figure. I thought 'bugger it' and entered. Of course there was the inevitable cat fight and I'm not sure Savannah has forgiven me. Ladies and Gentlemen, I won! No, really. I won. How excited was I?! I had to explain to my brother's family why I was jumping up and down and squealing like a teenage girl. They still thought I was bonkers. I don't think that has anything to do with my winning Oscar though.

XL posted the winner on the 28th of July. You may remember that I was in Trinidad at that time, caring for my father. Bless him, XL offered to post it out to me, which would have meant I'd never have got him. XL and I had a brief flurry of e-mails. I asked him to hold on to Oscar until I made it back to the Cold and Grim. Pretty much as soon as I landed in London Gatwick, XL was asking if he could post Oscar over.

Last week Monday, I got a note from Royal Mail telling me they were holding a parcel for me. Queue much girlie squealing. But, I was going to London to visit a friend on Tuesday and I knew I couldn't get to the post office for a couple of days. My night out in London turned into a few days as my friend and I got hideously drunk (my liver has written a letter of complaint to my MP) and staying on seemed like a good idea at the time. I finally staggered back to Norwich Friday night. Second thing, Saturday morning I went and picked up Oscar.

He was lovingly packaged, along with a really sweet note from Lola, RJ and XL. I was especially touched to find, Oscar hadn't got bored and munched the box of chocolates. XL had kindly included some postcards for Oscar to write home, which he declined to do.

Since then, Oscar has been regalling me with his famous quotes, the most applicable to me being:

'I can resist anything but temptation'.

The one that had me in stitches was: Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.

Many thanks to XL for Oscar, he looks quite content next to my laptop.

Life Keeps on a-Kicking

'They' said collective action no longer works. 'They' said people are hip deep in apathy and don't care any more. 'They' were wrong. Thanks to people like Eros and Mago who organised the absolute displeasure caused by the deletion of Infomaniac, MJ is now back and rocking like the fabulous bitch she is. There are still technical difficulties, old comments have disappeared and new comments seem to be going the same way. Eros has started another thread in the Google Help forum to try and resolve this issue, so please people make some noise.

After Infomaniac was restored to us, I looked forward to Filthy Friday this morning. Normal blogging service has been resumed, I thought seeing the naked conga line. And then I saw the post had been dedicated to KAZ. Kaz as you know has been MIA for some time and we've been very worried about her. Rightly, as it turns out. She is currently battling ovarian cancer.

I won't go into my love of the blogging community, cause if you haven't picked up on it by now, well, you're in need of a brain cell or two. Kaz was one of the first people to comment on my blog, nearly 4 years ago. She's been a fabulous friend, always ready with her razor sharp wit and fine sense of humour and has stuck with me through thick and thin.

Funny thing Life. I just had a look back through my stats and then I saw that today is my fourth blogging anniversary. Good grief. 523 posts, not including this one. Fuck.

Frantic Friday

I've had a bit of a busy time. I was going to fill you in yesterday, but with the kerfuffle with Blogger kidnapping MJ's blog Infomaniac, I rolled my sleeves up and threw myself into that melee. Actually, in a way there is a theme that runs through: the blogging community.

I trooped down to Yagnub to meet Z. We'd first clapped eyes on each other at a blog I no longer visit and then we started bumping into each other at Roger's place and then over at Dave's. We met in a lovely cafe. I did my trick of writing down the instructions of how to find said cafe on a slip of paper, which I promptly left next to my lap top. Along with Z's mobile number. Muppet, me? Oh yeah.

It's odd meeting someone for the first time, when you've been privy to their everyday activity, their family and their ups and downs. I didn't know the face, but I knew the soul. After we'd eaten Dilly and the Sage dropped in. Perhaps they were worried I was a serial killer? Hah, if only they knew I'm far more warped than that. Again, I'd heard so much about them, being with them was so easy, it was the meeting of friends. Z kindly took me back to inspect the Great Wall of Norfolk. Z did not appear to think it odd that I greeted her herbs and talked to her vegetables. It was a fabulous afternoon. I would have liked to have stayed longer but I had to hot foot it back home to prepare for a Summer Ball.

Lord Noel and Lady Jacqui made the mistake of inviting me to visit their manor for a spot of dinner. Thursday night, they rang and asked if I'd like to go to the local Summer Ball. Hell yes. As you've probably guessed, I'll turn up to the opening of an envelope. Any excuse to get my glad rags on, and I'm so there.

My first Ball was fun. Yes, you read right. I was a Ball virgin. I have to say, it wasn't quite what I expected. It was held in the ballroom of the local hotel and was...interesting. We invited ourselves to sit at a table and after awhile the three of us looked at each other and said 'we've gatecrashed a wedding'. It was exactly like that. Down to a woman dressed in cream, definitely from the Monsoon bridal collection. There were a few downright fashion disasters. Ladies, please, first rule of dressing up, black dress, black undies. The white bra strap is a no-no. The live band was of a good standard though their play list was a bit...ecclectic to say the least. They played a very decent version of Muses' Knights of Cydonia, immediately followed by Tom Jones' Delilah. I danced, drank and was very merry. Fortunately, I was offered B&B, I think I crawled off to bed at about 3 am. Hence my absence from the Interweb on Saturday. Just a bit fragile. Just a bit.

It's all about community. Whether virtual or physical, it doesn't matter. Don't let the people you care about wonder about your feelings. Roll your sleeves up and participate. These are the things that make my life worthwhile. Being part of something outside of yourself, brings meaning. It's all about the meaning for me.

Censored

It seems that someone over at Blogger/Google has been eating too much moral fibre.

My day started off with the news that MJ, over at Infomaniac has been abducted. Her blog and comments are no more. Before one could read her blog, one had to click the Adult Content warning. It was clearly marked. MJ was shepherd to a remarkable bunch of people from all over the world, all walks of life and she welcomed all expressions of sexuality.

Yes, there was adult content. Filthy Friday was well named. But it was consenting adults and quite frankly in terms of sexually explicit material, it was actually quite light.

That was bad enough.

Now it seems another blog has been removed. I had just started to visit Leni Quinan. I found her through mago.

As I'm a novice reader, I scratch my head trying to think of anything offensive or even mildly irritating over at Leni's. That's not the point.

The Adult Content warning is enough. What happens when adults play, is really up to them. Yes, this material is available to all. But you know what? There is much worse out there. Much worse. MJ neither endorsed nor supported sex relating to minors or non-consensual sex.

Freedom of expression is one of the joys of the internet. The opportunity to express yourself, as much or as little as you want. To be able to explore fantasies, hang out with friends, have virtual parties, it harms none. The censorship of these blogs does not protect the vulnerable. It is an attempt to make the blogging community Magnolia. I for one will not have it. Life is a rainbow and blogging should reflect it.

Dying Swan

Right you lot, which one of you gave me this bug? Come on 'fess up.

Boy came down with it Monday as did Petite Ursus. I steered clear of both and on Thursday started coughing up a lung. Very, very unpleasant. Yesterday, I felt like Lurch and Mr T had been using me as a punching bag, as well as the coughing, spluttering and sniffing, every inch of me hurt. Bright light and loud noises just hurt. Thank the Goddess for Ibuprofen and trashy novels. I took a large dose of each and hid in bed.

I'm not up and about. I just got bored. I know full well I'm not really dying, I just don't do ill. I'm not of the Stiff Upper Lip, Only When I Laugh, school of thought. I do the pathetic, send tea and sympathy Dying Swan. Which is fine. I feel sick, I want looking after.

However, this is only a cold. Let's put this in perspective. By next weekend, I will be feeling lots better and will back to my whingy, whiny self. There are those amongst us who are not faring so well. We have lost another blogger. Although, I didn't read Mutley's Blog, I did see him occasionally round MJs. It has brought home the fact that life is nasty, brutish and short once again.

I blog because I have a fundemental need to reach out and annoy. The blogging community I am proud to be part of is based on humour, genuine affection and caring. When I blog of some disaster which has befallen me, no matter how big or small, I am surrounded by friendship. Blogging isn't a replacement for real life; just because the community is based on binary code, it doesn't make it any less real.

I have a favour to ask. If you blog anonymously and are part of this little community of ours, find someone who won't leak your identity, someone you can trust. Someone, who in case something should happen, will let everyone know how you're doing. Should I drop dead tomorrow, Boy will let you know. I just don't want to wonder if you've gone off the whole blogging thing, or whether you've been trapped in a mine shaft, if I don't see you about. Please?

Details

I'm not good with details. This morning, I realised I'd given you a feel rather than proper feedback about my blogmeet with Dave.

Bearing in mind my memory is mush, I thought you might like some more details of our lunch together.

He warned me he talks a lot. I didn't bother to tell him, I talk a lot as well, I thought he'd figure it out for himself. We talked for over 3 hours. We parted at 3 o'clock cause I was promised to someone else for more coffee and cake. Otherwise I suspect we'd still be talking.

I brought up the unkind commentor on his health. Dave remains stoic and humourous in the face of real pain. We talked about the joys of steak. We both agree GPs are dodgy and pnemonia is no fun. No fun at all.

I asked about his mum, who seems to be doing better. She sounds lovely. I hope she is soon up on her feet. She's in good hands when she does come out of hospital. Mt Snowdon here they come.

Dave ran marathons and loves cricket. As a dedicated lazy-arse, I smiled and nodded. As I said before, it takes all sorts.

We talked about other bloggers and the effect blogging has had on our lives. See below.

He ordered plaice and chips, I had the pumkin rissotto. I kept on nicking his chips, though I passed on his gherkin. I'm still gob-smacked he didn't fall for the homemade tartare sauce with lumps of capers. Dave was taught to clear his plate, I stop eating when I'm no longer hungry. The fish and chips won.

We both like Earl Grey tea. I introduced him to the joy of 103 hot chocolate. A real pleasure. Proper hot chocolate. Mmmmm. Dave tells me he has a packet of Options in case of emergency. I'd rather go without.

After awhile we got the hint and cleared off so the staff could use the table for more paying customers. Besides, I could feel the need for a smoke. We strolled back to mine.

I had to evacuate Boy's clothes from the downstairs bathroom in case Dave needed to go.

The Cat came to say hello. Dave was polite.

We went into the garden so I could poison myself and Dave could see the garden proper. He found the wonky paving slab. He thinks grass is a waste of garden space, I do agree, but I'm keeping mine to lie out in next summer. We both think having thin borders is ridiculous.

I am impressed that he sews, bricklays and does 101 things with 6 stone of tomatoes. I don't have a practical bone in my body, though to be fair, I cook. Occasionally.

We talked about the horrors of divorce, the joys of working on friendships with exes and plans for the future.

We even talked about spirituality, different religions and atheists. I proved to him I can't tell a joke to save my life. He didn't try to convert me, I didn't set the gladiators on him.

He gave me a lift to my next coffee and cake meeting. I still think he should get a sports car.

Meeting Dave

Today, I met Dave. He says I'm his 21st blogmeet. I find it difficult to do a reciprocal calculation for the simple fact quite a lot of the bloggers on my list, I knew well before I blogged, or knew they blogged.

I was late. I had to shout at the bank first thing this morning and when I got home I didn't want to leave for the eaterie, without doing the dishes first, in case he wasn't a serial killer, and I invited him back for a cuppa.

He began by apologising. He warned me that he talks alot. Yes, he does. And we talked pretty solidly for over 3 hours. I was concerned that as a Man of the Cloth, he would attempt to share with me the error of my ways, being a dippy-hippy pagan and all that. I could have saved myself the worry-time. He didn't try to convert me to the Dark Side and I didn't break out the Lions. Though I will say, at one point he talked about his love of cricket; I smiled and nodded. After all, it takes all sorts.

Note to Self: most people don't take it as a compliment if you point out that they are spitting images of your birth father, bar for the obvious racial difference. Strangely enough, he has a similar sense of humour and the same deep well of compassion. Perhaps that's why it was so comfortable?

When I figured out that he would make a lousy serial killer, I invited him back to the Palais de Roses to see the garden where the purple oriental poppy seed he brought, will be sprinkled. He is not partial to grass, but could see why I wanted to keep it. I think he approves of my gardening plans.

Dave has been blogging longer than I and when we talked about it, I realised that for both of us, blogging is a community made up of friends you wouldn't always meet IRL. But once people become blogging friends, they are solid and with you through thick and thin. They are the people you can reveal the parts others don't necessarily see in your day-to-day life. People who don't blog, don't get it. And that's fine. I would argue that us bloggers have a deep need to communicate, to create connections and through those connections, live a little. It's a way of having a bit of fun, exploring creativity, exploring personal issues, sharing yourself. It's a way of being seen and acknowledged. It's a way of getting to know people that you wouldn't normally think would be friendship material. Dave said to me as I rolled up my crafty smoke, that he wouldn't normally meet smokers in his day to day life. I think he's walking on the wild side!

Compiling the To Do List

There are quite a few things I should be doing. In fact, I'll go as far as saying, there are I lot of tasks I ought to have got done by now.

I'm not a huge fan of 'should' and 'ought'. I take it as a personal failure if they come into my daily vocabulary. However, I have extenuating circumstances. I'm still not fighting fit. At this point, if I was attacked by a brown paper bag, I'd ring 999. Mmmm...there's a thought. I could request the fire brigade. Firemen. There's a nice thought.

*pulls mind away from hunky firemen wielding their mighty hoses*

Anyway, I'm procrastinating writing my To Do List. It's just too scary a thought to contemplate at this point. I don't want to see how much deadly boring stuff I have to do. I would rather continue to waste time on the Interweb, watch the idiot box and smoke outside every now and then.

I took my new clothes out for a test drive this week. I looked fabulous, if I don't say so myself. Good clothes, new boots and good make-up. It set me up nicely for work. It's good getting back into the manic rhythm that is earning an honest living. I'm equally pleased my employers have understood my stamina isn't up to full-on work yet and have given me a two-week period to gently slide back into the work ethic. Until I find a sugar-daddy to keep me in the manner to which I could (easily) become accustomed, I am resigned to my fate of working for a living. Though it is slightly irritating that it's interfering with my social life.

Having the time to lose on the Interweb has meant I've made new blogging friends and had the chance to annoy old ones. I've even been playing with Blogger's new fangled bits. If you look, you'll see my new friends, do follow the links, some of them are naughty...but nice. I warn you now, watch out for MJ and her love of cake. CyberPete and I have a mutual appreciation of the odd glass of naughtiness. Ms Scarlet, though she says she's permanently perplexed, is quite capable of wielding a bottle of Febreeze with finesse. A. Boxer, that's Ms Boxer to you, is actually a very gentle and artistic soul who does wonders with Bow Tie Pasta and a video cam. Mago, the Franconian, gives very good virtual foot rubs and he is a thinking man. Watch out for Donn, he may be reaching escape velocity quite soon, especially if he keeps calling me 'normal'. I have wrangled promises out of Dave for some fabulous purple oriental poppies and I hope to be annoying him soon.

Of the original crew of misfits, the Viking has hung up his keyboard and I still miss Murph's words of wisdom, although, to give him his due, Rog does try his best to fill Murph's paw prints. I've decided that Kaz actually lives in Spain and occasionally visits Manchester. Northern Monkey is expecting a baby monkey in December and Sanddancer has recently changed jobs. Hottie, is as gorgeous as ever and is embarking on her university career and would make Hermione blush with her over-achieving. Since my split with the Viking, I haven't been as frequent a visitor to the police blogs, but I still lurk to make sure they aren't working too hard.

It occured to me that I missed this blog's 3rd birthday in June. I missed an opportunity for a celebration. Very unlike me. Therefore I've decided instead of procrastinating today, I will be celebrating Journeying's birthday today.

As I've been writing this, I realised how much blogging has meant to me. This blog started out as a project for art school and I got hooked. I've made fabulous friends who've stuck with me through thick and writer's block; friends who've encouraged, mocked, cajoled and catcalled. Permit me a soppy moment.

*virtual hugs*

You guys rock!

And I think you're stuck with me. Sorry.

(If I haven't mentioned your fabulous blog, don't sulk, you know I love you really)

Happy 2nd Blog Day

Yep, you read right. It's been two years since I started blogging. My goodness what a rollercoaster. It's certainly been an experience. Just a quick re-cap of some of the amazing things that have happened in the last two years:

I made new friends
I found my Viking (or vice versa)
I found paid employment in the Independent Dept Store and the PCH
My Boy became a teenager
I lost my Pops
I finished my degree
Loads of people I love got happily married, and I got to dance at their weddings

As well as lots of day to day stuff.

Thanks for joining me for the journey. Here's to the next year and whatever Fortune and Fate bring.

Happy Blogday to Me

Today, this blog is a year old. In the next two weeks I will be coming to the end of this particular journey. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. This afternoon, after a particularly tempestous meeting with our external examiner, I went for a bus ride and tried to take some photos. I was really struck with the fact that it didn't feel right. I was happy enough riding around, listening to my MP3 player and being nosey about other people, but taking photos of the experience...it felt unnecessary and wrong. So I took others instead.

This time last year I had concrete plans: I was going to get a First, I was going to do the full-time MA in Culture and Communication, I was going to get funding, I was going to get a part-time job, I was going to become a lecturer. I was also worried about Boy becoming a teenager, having a long-term relationship (not being in one at the time) and feeling sad about not having any more children (that really bugged me).

This year I have come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to get a First, I'll be happy with a 2.i (well, not happy exactly, but not disappointed either). I get my results Friday. Fortunately, I'm going to be working, otherwise I'd be going on a weekend bender and my liver is a bit fragile at the momet. I've applied to do the part-time MA in Digital Arts at the college and await further instructions. I'm not going to get funding (certainly not without a First, or filling out the application form), I'd rather do the course part-time and work as it gives me more flexibility and I can't be arse to wade through 40 pages of forms (I kid you not). I have had a couple of part-time jobs, the second one has kept me sane, in money and make-up. The first, stressed me to dangerous levels even if it did pay a heck of a lot more. Boy has got taller, broader, a touch moody, a bit spotty, but is the same lovely lad. I still get loads of cuddles and we still have fun hanging out together. He has a cheeky sense of humour and a fabulous smile. I am still potty about him...you might have noticed, probably as I keep going on about him. I am in a relationship, one which I didn't expect, but am enjoying very much. I no longer feel sad that I'm not likely to have more children, I suppose I'm too busy being creative and trying to keep the rest of my life going.

I suppose the biggest change has come from my attitude towards life. I haven't got a clue what's going to be good for me. Rather than trying to impose my will on life in general, I'm just letting it happen and going with the flow. I think I'll try and follow this advice, which you can see over here as well. My energy levels still aren't much to write home about, but I've started exercising again and am pleased to say I've lost 2 lbs last week. I am getting there, just a bit slowly; and no, I still have no idea where I'm going.

When I started writing this blog, I didn't realise that I'd get loads of new friends. New friends who've kept me company when I was low, who encouraged me when I lagged, who gave me loads of virtual hugs when I was pleased with myself. So, thanks very much all of you. I'm really enjoying this journey, I hope you'll stick around to see what the next year will bring.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Welcome to my new look blog. Blame it on Sanddancer. I have been happy with my blog and how it's looked since I set it up; and then I saw her changes. I thought, hmmm...so I had look in the templates, saw this and liked it much.

I have crawled out of my Pit of Despair and while I'm not exactly feeling on top form, I'm not curled up in the foetal position under my desk either. I've done my 3 poems and I might see if I can do a few more (it always pays to have extra). My prose is finished, but I'm still struggling with the ending. Lacks a bit of punch. At the moment I'm 600 words over my limit and I'm loathe to cut them, especially since I'll probably be adding to them a bit later today. It's all part of the craft. Editing has got to be the most tedious, but most necessary part of the process. As a writer, you have to be prepared to delete your most favourite bits of writing. Not for the faint hearted.

I realised that I hadn't appraised you on my work situation for some time now. I'm still working on a casual basis for the department store and still having fun. I find that selling perfumes and cosmetics is a frivolous and fun way to pay for my coffees and paninnis. The Great British Public are an endless sourse of amusement and material; and I must say I am very fond of them.

On Saturdays, the Perfumery dept discards the black and white uniform in favour of brightly coloured tops and lots of cleavage. Yesterday was a bit of an exception. In support of a local charity, they decided to host some activities which included a raffle, prize draw and the cosmetic houses were doing mini-makeovers. The regular girls were dressed in kaftans, I was dressed in pink. I had lots of fun acosting people and getting them to dip into their pockets for raffle tickets. I don't mean to boast, but towards the end of the day, my bucket was getting very heavy.

I did however, have an interesting encounter, with a very large lady. She had been asked to make a donation on one door and refused, and when she spotted me standing further in store, she pounced.

"Why do you feel it necessary to ask people for donations? I feel really uncomfortable saying 'no'. It put me in a really awkward position."

Whoa.

I explained what we were doing and why. It turns out the lady was also fundraising for the same organisation. At the end of the conversation, I still wasn't sure why she was so unhappy. People who take up a bucket, or leaflets, or samples, or any kind of traffic stopping work, expect rejection. It's nice when whoever approached is polite, or has a smile with the shake of the head; but that's the icing on the cake. The cake itself is people who just walk away, people who put their hand up in your face, people who ignore you. I wasn't worried about the rejection and I didn't think any worse of anyone who did. I myself don't support any particular charity on a regular basis, though I do voluntary work when I can. So I was a bit taken aback by this woman's discomfort.

However, this anecdote does have a happy ending. After quite a lengthy conversation and a few empathetic statements "I'm sorry you felt uncomfortable about saying 'no'", she dipped into her pockets and bought some raffle tickets.

Shaggy Blog Stories

Check out the book! Better yet buy it. The red nose does give it away a bit, but it's for Comic Relief. What I quite like about it, is that I read some of the blogs in there. Oh yes, I am indeed a lovey, I am connected with high flying media types and writers. Yeah right. Anyway, buy the book.

Anyway, for those who give a shit (of which I am no longer one), my dissertation currently stands at...3,265 words. If I have any hope in getting in on Friday I have to get the first draft done by Monday. Which means that I have to write 4,000 words tomorrow.

Yeah. Right.

The Day Ahead

Today, my boy is off to a costume party with his dad. Just as well, because I am doing my first twilight shift. I troop along to work for 6.00 pm and finish at 2.00 (am). I am a tad worried about doing the late shift because 1) it'll be my first late weekend shift and the day shifts weren't fun and 2) I've been going to bed at 9.30 all week. I suspect once I'm actually at work and taking calls, I'll be so focused on my job, I won't be worrying about the time, or have the time to feel tired.

I actually started working on my dissertation yesterday and hope to do some more today, after boy goes off. Tomorrow, I suspect will be a write-off, but I've got until Tuesday to do the 1,500 word proposal. Wish me luck.

While I was getting my daily web-fix, Northern Monkey raised a very interesting question - how much does the Internet play in peoples' daily lives. Taking that a step further, I would ask 'how much is too much or too little?'

P.S

Check out the good news!

Participation

In the first part of the week I had to defend my pursuit of this project to my tutors, I had to come up with some intelligent and informed arguments why this project would be worthy of submission for my degree. Well, never mind. I found myself in both meetings stuttering as I tried to argue for the inclusion of this blog in my assessment. It's been exactly like an argument I've had with friends and family; days afterwards waking up in the middle of the night, springing up in bed with my index finger at the ready to point out all of the relevant issues that I missed during the actual fight.

This blog is about participation, a big issue that artists in galleries grapple with quite a lot of the time. Punters in a gallery setting especially, are often afraid to push the buttons that say 'push', or laugh or even to have fun with the piece. While this is not even close to the finished piece, it's still part of it, and in whatever form my submission will take in May, it will have been influenced by the comments and feedback that I will have got from you, my readers, my fellow travellers.

So perhaps over the next couple of weeks while I'm trying to come to grips with my new job, you'll do some thinking on my behalf.

• What would you like to see on this site?
• What are your experiences with travelling that changed your perspective on life? and would you be willing to share them with the wider world? Obviously being Anonymous is fine, but it would be great to be able to put names to stories.

I'd really appreciate it if you would take some time and bear those questions in mind. Technology and time permitting, I will try and follow up your suggestions. And of course, I'll let you know when my degree show is happening and you'll be more than welcome to come and have a giggle at my final piece.

White Rabbits

Hottie tried to have a look at my blog today. According the library computer, this blog contains pornography. That anyone would look at journeying and think that stories about riding around on buses are sexual, they really ought to seek help. Soonest.

Tomorrow, I register in college. I've got an action packed schedule in between signing in and catching up with people, I've got a tutorial with my CP about my project. I'll let you know how it goes. It is a form filling in exercise as much as anything, they need to know my plans for world domination this year. The feedback and guidance will be useful after having spent the summer ploughing my own furrow, so to speak.

Watch this space. Please?

Rally the Troops

Regular bloggers will know that recently, several very popular bloggers have been Dooced i.e. their employers have found out about their blogs and they've been disciplined or sacked. A site I visit regularly is Tom Reynold's Random Acts of Reality and he's highlighted the plight of Inspector Gadget on the Police Inspectors Blog. I've had a trawl through his site and I must admit I am impressed. He does not bring the service into disrepute. What he does, is highlight how difficult it is to do his job, getting it in the neck from the punters he's supposed to be serving and protecting and The Powers that Be.

Blogging is a way to have a coffee and a gossip with people you wouldn't normally meet. It's a way of off-loading, hanging out, even learning something. And damn it, I like a good 'in-joke'. I wonder if someone reading a blog about frontline services would be as quick to ring 999 to get an ambulance for their verruca, or for reporting the theft of a spanner, or an assault with a pigeon?

Blog Research

This week I found this really interesting blog, following links. I kept on coming back to it, thinking it was all good stuff. And then yesterday's blog blew my mind. It was all about selecting the right question, very relevant as I start to think about the wording for my dissertation.

There has been something about this week, little things keep coming together. I found bus blogs and now have other blogs linking to this site. I'm finding bits and pieces that are relevant to my study and work. Oh, I've even got a job now. It's all coming together.

Actually, all that's happened is that I've managed to pull together most of the bits and pieces I'll need to see me through my final year. I'm packed and ready to go. Coming?

Bus Groupie

Yesterday I made contact with a bus driver who's just passed his test and has been blogging throughout the process. He's very kindly agreed to put a link to my site, which is just great. Thanks Jimmy. We had a brief exchange of e-mails and he wrote:

I was introduced to a woman who spends all day on various buses, she's known as a bus groupie, we dropped her off and low and behold, we pick her up again half an hour later, bless her, totally harmless, just lonely.

I'm a bus groupie! So all the bus drivers on the Number 25 think I'm sad and lonely. Excellent. The next time I go around the route, I'll have to flash my student ID with a letter from my CP tutor. Think they'll believe me?

Me neither.